


A Taste of Darkness

by steelrose



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dark, F/M, Misogyny, Non-human Daenerys, Romance, Supernatural Elements, Vampire Jon, Vampires, small minded people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23631574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelrose/pseuds/steelrose
Summary: Ever since the vampires revealed themselves to the human race, Daenerys has desperately wanted to meet one. Many in Oldtown don't share her view and would gladly see the creatures return to the dirt. However, when she unexpectedly meets Jon, he flips her whole world around and introduces her to Euphoria.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 31
Kudos: 154





	A Taste of Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with a new story. This is the first semi-modern one that I'll be posting, so I hope that you enjoy it. The main inspiration for this story comes from True Blood and A Discovery of Witches.
> 
> I hope that you're all staying safe and well! 
> 
> For those that read my other stories, both The Duchess and the Wolf and Bloodline, will be updated this week.

Oldtown, Virginia, is a respected, historical town which often attracts tourists to visit the little quaint corner of the world. It may have a rich history of darkness and war but now presents itself as a harmonious and very hospitable town. Daenerys thinks about these values as she sits in the pew of the packed Church between her mother and little sister, listening to Pastor Sparrow talk about the  _ threat _ of the ungodly. 

Ever since the vampires  _ came out of the coffin _ six months ago, her father has been calling regular town meetings and has been heavily influencing the Pastor, to make sure the old man mentions the imminent threat of the vampires in every service, as if anyone could forget. 

It seems that despite the declaration of peace and the many laws being implemented to ensure that the peace remains between the humans and supernatural beings, her father has decided that they are the enemy. One which is most certainly not welcome in Oldtown. 

Her father’s obvious hatred of the vampires is ferocious, to the extreme. One would presume that he has had some altercation with the species. In Daenerys' opinion, it’s blind ignorance and nothing more. Aerys once decided that he hated peach cobbler because his mayoral rival, Tywin Lannister, declared that his wife Joanna made the best one in all of Virginia. He refused to eat a slice that was offered to him, during a  _ friendly _ dinner at the Lannister’s residence, where the seven founding families were in attendance. 

Daenerys watches the back of her father’s head, which nods keenly as the Pastor grows more enthusiastic with his preachings. A quick glance around the room reveals an abundance of expressions: acceptance, resentment, boredom, enthusiasm, amusement, horror. She sees it all and masks her own true feelings. 

As the daughter of the mayor, Daenerys is expected to uphold the values of the town and of her family, all the while remaining a glimmering example for her younger sister and other young ladies in the town. As far as everyone is concerned, her life is already mapped out. No one ever leaves Oldtown, and it’s never out of choice. 

The clutch on her lap buzzes for a moment and she doesn’t even need to look at her phone, to know who the text is from. Daenerys glances over at the other side of the aisle, where Margaery sits with a smirk pressed against her rosy lips. They’ve been best friends since before they could talk, a given since their mother’s run in all the same social circles. Not that there are many alternatives for the ladies of Oldtown. 

They may have the technology of the 21st century and even a Starbucks, but sometimes she thinks the people are still trapped in the past. Her mother most of all. Rhaella Targaryen acts and dresses as though she has been pulled straight out of the 50s, and while there is not a bad bone in her body, Daenerys cannot help but pity her mother. Rhaella has never done anything that wasn’t already decided for her. 

“Daenerys, stop fidgeting. Ladies don’t fidget,” Rhaella scolds softly, white-gloved hands pressing against her own firmly. Sometimes, she wants to retaliate that she is not a lady and fidgeting, amongst other things, should not matter in this day and age. 

Boredom takes her once again and her imagination begins to wander. Despite the divide in the town’s opinions, she would very much like to meet a vampire. The thought alone makes her heart beat a little faster. To be that close to danger, what a glorious thing it would be. Daenerys thinks that Eve ate the apple because the idea of living with Adam in such a perfect Eden was enough to make anyone crave rebellion. 

If Oldtown is her Eden, a vampire is certainly the forbidden fruit. 

At night she dreams of them, sharp fangs and shadowed eyes, with sly smiles that can charm their prey. She thinks of what it would be like to be taken by one when the air is hot and her nightgown grows sheer from her body heat. The valley between her legs throbs with need when she takes two fingers in the dead of night and finishes herself. 

A warm blush coats her cheeks as the memories of her nightly rituals come back to her. It’s in that very moment when Pastor Sparrow meets her gaze and she feels the weight of his judgement. He cannot possibly know what secrets her mind holds, although he will undoubtedly ask her to atone for her sins. Her palms grow sweaty on her lap as the time drags on at an excruciating pace until all she can think about is having some of Alerie Tyrell’s fresh lemonade, which she brings to every social gathering. It’s a firm favourite among the locals and likely to be consumed very soon, considering the looming night outside the church walls. Pastor Sparrow won’t ever admit to his fear but he will never hold a sermon after dark. Not when there’s a chance of the nightwalkers hearing. Even the most mighty of men in her small town would not rival against the power of a vampire, not that Daenerys expects them to court chaos the way humans do.

The end comes not a minute too soon. She stands up almost instantly, resisting the urge to rub her arse which has become numb from sitting on the godforsaken wooden plank for what feels like an eternity. 

Everyone congregates around the snack table. Children with eager hands reach out their little paws, while prim and proper mothers carefully bat them away. 

Daenerys reluctantly lingers beside her mother, who believes it’s her responsibility to thank the Pastor at every bloody service. “You are an inspiration to us all,” Rhaella proclaims passionately, holding her hand neatly against the golden cross at her neck. 

An inspiration? Daenerys can think of far better words to describe the old pastor but she keeps those to herself. Instead, she uses her mother’s distraction to slip away from the crowd of people. Elora looks at her with large doe eyes, pleading to come with her. Her little sister moves towards her, only to have her hand snatched up. Rhaella has taken to babying Elora, since she is the youngest, refusing to accept that all her children are now almost grown. They are all flowers in a beautiful garden she has nurtured for many years, and with every child that leaves the nest, Rhaella feels as though her garden is being ruined by grubby hands that want to steal all her flowers. 

Just as she’s about to step outside the church and breathe in the cool night air, a hand circles around her upper arm and pulls her back. It could be a number of people. In this town, everyone acts far too familiar and everyone has an opinion on everything. Including how she should live her life. 

Gossip ran wild in Oldtown when Daenerys moved out of the beautiful mansion house, which had been her home and the home of Targaryens for centuries, to a cabin in the woods. The way people spoke of it was as though it was a small box, which whistled and shook with every howl of the wind. But in truth, it’s a luxury log cabin that’s been completely modernised with integrated AI systems, large windows and multiple floors. It even has a garage for christ sake! But still, people think she’s roughing it in the woods, just because she would like some peace and quiet every now and again. 

Daenerys glances at the hand on her arm - the tattooed knuckles are instantly familiar. She stares at the animal skulls which protrude crudely against bronzed skin. The grip is strong and if the man wished it, it could certainly turn painful. She peers up at Drogo and forces herself not to sigh. His thick hair is hanging loose around his shoulders, and his attire is inappropriate for a church - she’s surprised he even attended. But then, he is in complete agreement with her father and Pastor Sparrow. One of many reasons why she dislikes him.

“Can I help you with something?” she asks, keeping her tone steady. Repeatedly, Daenerys has told the oafish man that she is not interested in him. His outdated values are rumoured to be downright shitty at this point. W _ omen must serve their husbands _ , she once heard him saying to his group equally pig-headed friends. 

“When you gonna let me take your skirt out?” Drogo grunts.

“Just my skirt? You’re welcome to borrow it but I don’t think it’ll fit you.” She slides her hand out of his grip and smiles up at him, the hidden message of ‘ _ fuck you’ _ in the curl of her lips. One day he might get the message that she is not interested in dating him, or worse, sleeping with him. Some of the girls in town like Drogo, he’s older with broad shoulders and tattoos decorating the entire expanse of his arms. But it’s not his appearance which is ugly, it’s his personality. 

“You don’t need to play hard to get, Dany. I dig you.” He takes a step closer to her and ducks his head, while several people begin to filter out of the church and down the steps past where she is standing. Most are probably going home to contemplate the Pastor’s dark warnings. 

Daenerys rolls her eyes, crossing her arms stubbornly over her chest. “You may not hear this often and that may be why it’s taking a while for you to understand me, I am not interested!” She watches the way Drogo’s cheeks colour with indignation, his chest puffs and his eyes spark with irritation. There are plenty of girls to mewl over him but she is not one of them. 

“You think you’re better than me? Stuck up little girl,” he grunts, hands clenching at his sides. Daenerys takes a cautious step back and gazes up at him blankly. 

“I’m just not interested,” she responds, and then climbs back up the steps, moving an inch to the left to avoid brushing his shoulder, as she walks back into the church. Her father is watching with a scowl on his worn features. In a lot of ways, her father and Drogo share many of the same values, in that they’re both misogynistic pigs, but Aerys Targaryen would be dead before he saw his daughter with a man like Drogo. 

“Was he bothering you?” Aerys asks, the moment she is by his side. She glances over her shoulder at the retreating figure and shakes her head. It’s nothing she cannot handle. Her father pats her on the shoulder in a patronising manner and she resists the urge to shrug it away. At twenty-five years of age, Daenerys feels every bit trapped beneath her father’s rule, as she did growing up in the big manor house. His reach knows no limit. 

“We’re going to Eden and Apple for dinner,” her father tells her. There is no asking involved, he simply tells her that they’re going and that’s that. 

Elora shifts to move beside her, tucking pale gold strands behind her ears. Her little sister is beautiful and sweet and babied. As challenging as Daenerys finds her overbearing parents, she is grateful that she no longer lives with them, unlike her little sister. 

The Eden and Apple is a short walk from the church, so she leaves her car parked there and follows her family as they make their way to Oldtown’s finest restaurant. Like the name would suggest, it’s been inspired by the Garden of Eden. Ornate apples are brushed in gold as they curl around the light fixings and dark wooden pillars which separate the sections. Booth chairs are lined with rich velvet, while candle holders are adorned with golden snakes curling around the circumference. On the back wall, a detailed imagining of Adam and Eve are depicted, a tender hand clutched around a juicy red apple. The place has been recently renovated, and she had been the head designer on the project. 

As always, they are given the best table. She wonders if her father pre-booked, or if the staff always know that the mayor will want that table, should he unexpectedly turn up. 

Her mother and father sit on one side of the table, while she sits on the other side with Elora. Menus are placed into their waiting hands, while the waitress pulls a small device from the front of her apron, to start taking down drinks orders. As always, her father orders a 16-year-old single malt whiskey, while her mother orders a glass of Bordeaux Merlot. She considers ordering a cocktail but decides she’d rather have a drink of wine once she gets home, and instead selects a glass of elderflower water, while Elora opts for a salted caramel shake.

“How are things coming along with the new project?” her father asks, referring to the designs she has been working on for the new luxury woodland housing estate, which is thankful a couple of miles away from her own woodland home. 

“Please, no business talk while we’re having dinner,” Rhaella asks, and rests her hand on top of her husbands. “Remember, sweetheart, as a mentor for the pageant, you aren’t excused from attending just because of this work thing you have.” Daenerys presses her lips together, to avoid saying something unkind. Her mother does not understand why women choose to work. As she begins to zone out what her mother is saying, her gaze drifts across the restaurant. Some eat in two’s, couples attempting to keep the romance alive, while families eat in groups of four. Her father has always said that a perfect family is made up of four, although she would’ve liked a son. Sometimes, she wishes that she could bang her parents’ heads together. They aren’t living in the real world. 

She watches as one woman slams down her napkin, rises abruptly from her chair and storms away, while the male dining with her looks dumbfounded, fork still halfway stuck in his mouth. Daenerys suppresses a giggle at how silly he looks. 

As Daenerys continues her observation of her room, she stops suddenly and narrows her eyes. Tucked in a dark corner booth, a man sits with one leg bent and resting on the space beside him, hand poised in mid-air as he rolls a tumbler of ice and some hard liquor in his hand. Instantly, a chill climbs down her spine the moment he looks at her, his grey eyes piercing her own for a moment. She isn’t sure how she knows, but Daenerys realises that the man she is staring at is, in fact, a vampire. 

He looks like a movie star, or a model for a perfume ad. This stranger has short dark facial hair, and almost black hair, pale skin which she can see peeking out from his black knit jumper, and an unforgiving gaze. Daenerys wants to go over and speak to him, although she isn’t sure what she should say. She curses the fact that their meals haven’t even been brought out yet, meaning she’ll likely miss the opportunity to speak with him. 

Daenerys realises that no one in the restaurant has noticed him, not in the way that she has. He would draw attention from others, since he is a handsome man, but no one realises that there is a vampire among them. She wonders if they are consciously blind, or just that ignorant. 

It would be reckless of her to mention it to her father, who would immediately be on his feet demanding that the  _ creature _ leave. Her stomach clenches at the thought of that happening, of this man slipping from between her fingers so quickly. 

“Is everything okay?” her father asks, causing Daenerys to whip her head back around and nod at him. “I thought I saw Margaery’s boyfriend flirting with another girl, but it’s not him,” she lies, tugging a piece of bread from the basket and breaking it in half. She doesn’t risk another glance back, not yet. 

When the waitress returns with their drinks and they begin to order their food, Daenerys glances back over at the booth and feels her heart drop when she realises it’s empty. The mysterious vampire has vanished, just as quickly as he arrived. An elusive star, thousands of miles out of reach. She doesn’t know why she should be so interested in meeting a vampire, aren’t they supposed to be dangerous? Isn’t that what Pastor Sparrow is warning them about?

For the rest of the meal, Daenerys hides her disappointment. She listens half-heartedly as her family discuss minor things, and only perks up whenever Elora says anything. Her sister is the only one worth listening to. Once they’ve finished eating, Daenerys is quick to make her excuses in leaving. She offers to pay for her meal, but her father shakes his head and kisses her politely on the cheek. Aerys Targaryen has never been an affectionate father, and everything he does comes with a cost. 

It’s dark outside except for the street lamps dotted around the town, and the fairy lights adorning thick bushy trees. Daenerys has never been afraid of the dark, so she has no concerns as she walks back to the church to pick up her car. The shallow heels on her boots pitter-patter against the ground, as she walks calmly through the night. 

As she arrives at her car, Daenerys reaches into her purse and tugs out her keys.

The same feeling of an overwhelming chill slides down her back, despite the warm spring air. The hairs on the back of her neck stand and something unnatural tremors in her body, begging to escape from beneath her skin. She stares down at her pale arm and frowns, wondering if she’s imagined the flicker of light. 

Her car keys jingle in her right hand, as she notices another person reflecting off the car windows. Daenerys spins on the heels of her feet and releases a gasp. It’s him. The vampire. 

Daenerys is very rarely lost for words, but she struggles to find the words to break the silence. 

“You were watching me,” the vampire says calmly. The tone of his voice is dark and alluring. She now knows why predators often dazzle their prey. 

She clears her throat and then breathes in deeply, to calm her beating heart. “I’m sorry for staring, it’s not something I make a habit of doing. It’s just...you’re the first vampire I’ve ever seen,” Daenerys admits, pressing her hands together - car keys caught in the middle of her grasp.

A small smile curls his lips upwards, “You noticed that?” 

Daenerys nods proudly, “The second I saw you, I knew what you are. No one else seemed to notice you though.” Maybe she shouldn’t have admitted that, but it was probably obvious anyway. She doesn’t believe the rumours that vampires are no better than serial killers. It’s not their fault they died. “How do you like Eden and Apple?” 

“Well it’s no Euphoria,” he murmurs smoothly, and she feels her heartbeat spike inside her chest. Despite the warning in her brain, she takes a step closer to him. Up close, she realises that his eyes aren’t a flat grey, but a storm of mood colours captured in silver irises. She wonders if she reaches out to touch him, if he’ll be as cold as the myths say. 

“What’s Euphoria?” she asks, keeping check on the quiver in her voice. Daenerys realises at that moment that there is very little fear running through her, it’s something else which pounds in her veins. Something far more tantalising. 

She watches as he readjusts the collar of his coat, tugging it closer to his neckline and looking down at her with a dangerous gaze. 

“Would you like to find out?”


End file.
